


you sit there in your heartache

by youngbloodbuzz



Category: Glee
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngbloodbuzz/pseuds/youngbloodbuzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night he finally takes his ring off is when he accidently walks in on her in the bathroom, seeing red welts crisscrossing down her naked back through the steam. He glares and wants to throw up right there, but then her head snaps back to him and he slams the door shut at her vaguely concerned gaze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**This is not a love story.**

x

He should have seen this coming. He should have known better. He should have been suspicious when she said _I love you_ for the first time. He should have –

There’s really nothing he can do now. All he can do is stare at it, his eyes glancing back and forth between it and its larger twin resting on his finger.

He wants to believe he already knows the answers as to why he found it hidden in her drawer, but he’d be lying if he says he wasn’t confused, with thoughts like when, why, and _I’m never going to take it off._

x

There’s one sure thing he knows about himself, ever since he hit puberty, is that he loves women. Truly. He’d be nothing without them – he can safely say he spent more time with women than with half of his friends in high school.

But if there’s one thing he knows better, is that he loves Quinn. He used to have the idea that after Beth was born, there was always gonna be something tying him back to her. He thought that he’d drink and fuck his way through a happy bachelor life, and always having a piece of himself left with Quinn. A whisper of _I’ll always be here for you._

He knows better now. He knows now, that after over half a decade of an impulsive marriage, he loves the way her body is molded into soft curves and skin, and how her muscles ripple when they move against his body. He loves the way she smiles demurely and how her eyes shine when he gives her his all of attention. He loves the strength she carries, and the resilience she embodies, and the passion she can possess. He loves the way she can make him feel.

He would have never figured he would marry so young in his life. But then Quinn reappears with those empty eyes and he wants to make things better, and he has never looked back since. Never touches another woman since. He has never particularly felt the need to.

So why then did he feel like running out right now and fucking the nearest willing one?

x

He should have known something was off when he gives Beth a personally signed copy of the Wicked soundtrack for her twelfth birthday. He feels Quinn’s body stiffen next to him and she turns to him with that ‘I will rip out your spine with my bare hands’ glare as Beth jabbers about Rachel this and Rachel that.

He just smiles back, because they should be proud that Rachel actually made it, and proceeds to improvise _Defying Gravity_ on his guitar as Beth sings at the top of her little lungs – he’s heard the song enough times by now to have had it memorized.

He smiles and laughs as his little girl prances and dances around the room, showing off her talent. Yet, out of the corner of his eyes, he can see that Quinn has yet to smile.

x

He swears that if he ever bothers to look up prude in the dictionary, he’ll find a picture of Quinn. Well – sober Quinn at least. Ever since he’s known her, she’s rarely ever sworn and always blushes an endearing shade of red whenever he teases her before he’s reprimanded with a glare.

Yet, it’s a whole different story when she drinks. Drunk Quinn is Sober Quinn’s rebellious alter ego, and it’s definitely a special one hundred and eighty degree experience you need to see to believe. She can cuss out the best of ‘em and sometimes has his eyes (not to mention his pants) bulging at the words spewing out of her mouth.

It’s hilarious, because as much as a Dirty Harriet she can be, Drunk Quinn will still never take the Lord’s name in vain.

He’s lost count the number of times he’s cursed it in front of her before Quinn would smack his head and pull his Mohawk. “You’re a fucking Jew, Puckerman, so act like it! And don’t take the Lord’s name in fucking vain!”

She’s frighteningly defensive about it.

Even after all those years of oppression and repression and depression or whatever the shit she suffered from back when they were young, Quinn still wears her cross every single day. At first, he figures with everything that had happened and the things she had been through, she had lost faith.

When he asks her about it, she claims that her Faith saved her.

“You remember how sad I was? That first time I kissed you?” She asks.

Of course he remembers.

x

The first time she kisses him post-high school, it throws him for a loop.

It begins when Quinn unexpectedly visits him in LA in her third year at Yale during spring break. He figures she’s finally snapped and is here to murder him, because why else would she visit? But what he’s met with is just Quinn – same old Quinn, with those same old jaded eyes and disposition, asking to be shown around the city.

He considers giving her the basic LA tour, but instead decides to show her the ocean. He takes her to his favourite spot next to the boardwalk, where you can sit outside on the patio and have the perfect view of the beach and beyond.

“It’s funny,” he says, glancing at her over the rim of his beer bottle. “We went to New York, and we didn’t even see the ocean up close.”

“We didn’t have the time,” she says, looking at the splashing waves. “I always wanted to see it.”

He frowns, “Quinn, why are you really here?”

He really couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I mean, you live in New Haven, you could have just taken a taxi or bus or something down to the coast. But coming out all the way here? I just…I don’t get it.”

He sees her swallow heavily, her eyes remaining on the waves.

(No – what’s really funny in the most memorable way is how she’s been unable to make eye contact with him since they met up at the airport.)

“Quinn – “

“Can’t I just…” she breaks him off with a heavy frown, “Miss someone?”

He blinks and is almost tempted to chug back his beer, “Me? You missed…me?”

She finally turns to look at him, and it’s seriously ridiculous with how those eyes always managed to catch hold of him. (He’s not entirely sure if he wants them to let him go.)

“Why not?” She says, taking a sip of her whisky and coke. (“It’s a new development,” she had told him when she ordered it.)

“Um, because I’m me, and you’re you, and that’s just…” He’s sort of lost for words, and runs a hand through his mohawk.

“Did you know Rachel and Finn got married?” She suddenly asks, and he blinks at the change of subject. “After Finn finished basic training, he went to New York and they basically eloped at city hall.”

He nods, “Yeah. Finn called and told me. Their parents are pissed at them, but happy as they can be. Was it a good ceremony?”

“I didn’t go,” she says, taking another sip.

“Ah,” is all he says and looks away, unsure of what to make of that.

“Do you like really it here? By the coast?”

Once again, she’s throwing him for a loop with all the changing subjects, but this is one thing he can answer for sure. “Yeah, I do. I mean – I’m sort of thinking of moving further west, to Hawaii, but I don’t know. If it has a beach near it, then I’ll call it home.”

She just nods, and looks to the beach once again. “Hawaii sounds nice.”

They spend the rest of the day walking along the boardwalk and on the beach. They somehow manage to move past the awkward stage from seeing each other again after so long, and into more comfortable conversation. They discuss all of his different jobs and the possibility of moving to Hawaii and how’d that affect his mom and sister, and how Quinn is doing at Yale and switching her majors.

He asks her what she plans on switching to, but her face melts into a stony expression he has no idea how to break through. She just shrugs, and says, “I’m not sure.”

He’s perfectly aware at how exhausted she looks by the time it’s dark, so he offers her to let stay over at his place so she doesn’t have to pay for a night at a hotel room.

It’s not the largest apartment or the cleanest, but she barely spares a glance around when they enter. Instead, when he closes the door, he finds himself trapped against the wood and a warm body, with soft lips presses against his and hands clasping his neck.

His eyes immediately snap shut and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, yet he finds his hands floating midair, unable to find a safe spot to land on her waist, but he’s not sure he can think properly anyways, because what the _fuck_ , Quinn is kissing him.

(What, no, his toes are totally not curling in his sandals.)

Instead of kissing back, he gently pushes her back by her shoulders and she blinks her eyes open with a frown, “What? What is it?”

He can’t seem to stop his eyes from blinking rapidly or stop the malfunction happening within his brain, because all he wants to do is lift her by the waist and carry her to his bed, but he knows better now. This is a fragile situation and quite frankly, his hands are far too calloused to deal with this in the delicate way it deserves.

“I can ask you the same thing?” He draws out, and he’s pretty sure he might be slapped if he says the next thing on his mind, but he goes with it anyways. “This isn’t that… senior year thing again…is it?”

He braces for the pain, but Quinn’s face once again becomes stone. “I think I should go.”

She moves to grab her bag from where she dropped it, but he takes a chance and grabs her wrist, turning her around, “Wait!”

“What? Haven’t I humiliated myself enough?” She snaps, ripping her hand from his grasp.

He fights back the urge to drag his nails down his face, but he sees the way she’s trembling and draws her into a hug. She’s unresponsive with her hands dangling at her side, yet he holds fast and presses his cheek against her hair. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you or what brought on that kiss or this visit, but…okay, so I might not do that emotional shit or whatever, but you’re my baby mama and anything you ask, I’ll do it. You know that right? If someone hurt you, I’ll literally be your hit man.”

He feels her exhale unsteadily, and every so slowly, wrap her trembling arms around his torso, gripping at his shirt. “Can you just hold me?”

She says it so softly, he’s not sure if he imagined or not, but with the broken way she says it and the small sob that escapes after it, he tightens his hold on her.

The second time she kisses him is at the airport the next day. They’re at the security checkpoint which is as far as he can go, and he’s not sure how he feels with her leaving with so many things left unexplained.

When he opens his mouth to say something – anything – she turns to him with a smile, places a hand on his cheek and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Are you gonna be okay?” He asks as he breaks away.

“I’m going to be just fine,” she says with that smile and draws him into a hug. “I’ll call you if I ever need my hit man, ‘kay?”

He’s slightly disturbed with how different her disposition is today, compared to yesterday, but that’s Quinn and all he can do is pull her in tighter. “I’ll be seeing you, Q.”

x

“I was lying when I said I was going to be okay,” she says, unable to look at him. “I broke down when I got back to my dorm. I was just so sad. School…Life wasn’t what I was expecting. Yale meant freedom, but it also meant being alone.”

(She had never been good at making or keeping friends.)

She goes on to explain how her roommate found her, and pointed out a church for her after remembering Quinn had told her she used to be religious. This progressive church, whose God preached unfailing acceptance and unconditional love.

Her eyes fills with tears when she tells him how for the first time, sitting in that church and listening to the sermon on overcoming obstacles, she was filled with Faith for the first time since that little blue plus sign first appeared.

x

He remembers how back when they were young, when Quinn cried he thought her eyes were the saddest eyes in the world.

x

But she smiles now, with tears that swirl with happiness and love, and returns the watery smile with one of his own.

Even after everything, all those ession’s, Quinn still goes to church every Sunday, she still wears her cross, and she prays before every meal. 

x

“Ow, don’t pull my mo!”

“Then don’t say his fucking name!”

Sometimes she gets too defensive and preachy for her own good, to the point where it gets on his nerves. “Does Jesus love you with those vicious hands and filthy fucking mouth of yours?”

“Jesus loves everyone,” she slurs.

“Including you?”

“Especially me.”

x

He’ll never admit it to her, but a tipsy and rambling Judy accidently confesses to him one Chirstmakkuh about how Quinn has needed to take a concoction of anti-depressants and pain killers since senior year.

x

When they get their ten years high school reunion letter from McKinley, Quinn immediately refuses to go.

She cites a heavy workload and that she doesn’t need any distractions or holidays.

He for one can do with some vaca-time, not counting the fact that they live on an island and a couple minutes from the beach. But after a couple years working as a bartender slash band member, he yearns for home, his old friends and some nostalgia. He honestly misses snow.

He sighs into his cereal as he reads the letter and looks up at Quinn, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper before work. Quinn Puckerman, with her hair up in a bun, a white dress shirt tucked into a black pencil skirt, and glasses balancing low on her nose – she looks like the future.

“Go if you want,” she says softly.

“I don’t want to go if you don’t want to go.”

“Finn’s going, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t seen him in a while. You should go.”

He looks at her, drinking her coffee and reading her newspaper, the girl who refuses to look back anymore. “Everyone else is gonna be there too…don’t you miss ‘em?”

She finishes her coffee, “Not really.”

x

He remembers the car crash. How everyone was in tears in the waiting room. How scared they were. How bitter Quinn was afterwards; with the wedding, the physical therapy, the fact that everyone seemed to finally care only after she almost died.

He knows first-hand how Quinn has never really recovered from high school, with the way she shuts down or how she silently cries in her sleep or drinks herself In a stupor.

He also knows that she still has her senior year book packed away in a box somewhere, filled with paragraphs and pictures of love and support.

x

“Are you going?”

“I’m not sure, man. Quinn’s totally set on _not_ going.”

“Dude, are you like…whipped?”

“Fuck you, Hudson.”

Finn laughs on the phone and he smiles. Quinn was right when she said he hadn’t seen Finn in a while. Ever since Finn joined the army, it became his life and no one ever saw much of the man until he took his rare leave.

“Don’t worry man. Rachel said I’d regret it If I didn’t go.”

“You still talk to Rachel?”

“Yeah, sometimes we talk on the phone. I mean like – we didn’t want to sever ties completely, y’know?”

“Yeah, man. So she’s good?”

“Yeah she’s good, just really busy with Broadway and stuff.”                                                   

“I gotta admit, I miss that girl.”

Finn chuckles, “Yeah, me too. She said she always wanted to visit Hawaii though. So, who knows, she might go visit you guys sometime.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool. Is she going to the reunion?”

“I don’t really know – I asked her, but she just seemed weird about it.”

“I wish Quinn would tell me how she feels about it, it’s like zero emotion when I ask her.”

“This isQuinn we’re talking about. She’s like a closed one thousand page epic novel, where Rachel is like an audiobook.”

He laughs and looks at the gold bang on his finger, “Do you think she’d be mad if I went without her?”

“Well...I mean, it _is_ Quinn, I never really figured out her deal about these sort of things anyways. But seriously man, when is this _ever_ gonna happen again? If I were you, I’d suffer the rage of scary Quinn to see all my old friends who I haven’t seen in years.”

“Yeah, and I guess I’m pretty used to scary Quinn now anyways.”

“See? So, are you going or not?”

He spins the ring around his finger, “Sure, I’ll go.”

x

He takes a taxi home when returns from the reunion, figuring Quinn’s still at work, but he’s surprised when he catches her lounging on the sofa, with a baseball game on mute and listening to someone talk over the phone while wearing one those expressions that tells him to keep out of it.

Hearing her muffled voice through the walls, he drops off his bag by the stairs and grabs a beer. Sneaking in the living room, he can make out another muffled voice talk rapidly through the phone. “Hey, baby,” he says and smirks as Quinn jumps at the sound of his voice.

“What the – Noah! What? No, no, it’s just - this asshole decided to scare me.”

She glares at him, and he winks, lifting her legs to sit and then places them down on his lap.

“Hey baby,” he whispers again and leans over to kiss her softly on the lips, yet she continues to glare at him. “How’re you?”

“Fine.”

“How was your weekend?”

“Fine.”

“Who’s playin’?”

“Yankees and Cubs.”

“Cool. Who’s winning?”

“Look for yourself.”

“’kay. Hmm, five-two Yankees. Sweet. Who won the afternoon game?”

“Can you shut up?” He grins.

She huffs and makes to move. “Fine, I’m going to the backyard – “

He holds her legs down, “Nope!”

“Noah – “

“I haven’t seen you all weekend, okay?”

“Noah – what? No, don’t you dare hang up! I don’t want to wait till tomorrow, we need to finish this discussion now.”

“Go ahead, talk! It’s fine, look I’ll even turn the volume up so I won’t _intrude.”_

Whenever Quinn gets like this over the phone, it’s really best to leave her alone. Yet, he really hasn’t seen her all weekend, and it was 11:36 and Quinn usually goes to bed at twelve and –

“Fine.”

He smiles triumphantly and pecks her again. This time she flashes a smile back and quickly looks down at her lap.

Turning back to the game, he drinks his beer and watches inning after inning as the Yankees dominate their home game.

x

He remembers how a couple years ago, Quinn pointed out to him that awareness isn’t his forte.           

x

The third time she kisses him, they’re back in Lima for the Christmukkuh after her visit. He doesn’t pull away this time, and nor does she break down.

(He’s tried to convince himself that he wasn’t hoping for it, but he failed to do so once she called him to come over.)

He’s gentle about it this time, allowing her to take control which surprisingly turns him on all the more. But that’s not the point, because even though he somehow ended up sitting on the edge Quinn’s childhood bed with her straddling him, he’s not here to hit third base.

He pulls away from their languid kiss to gently look at her. “How are you?” he asks, brushing her hair behind her ear.

She blinks in surprise and smiles, “I’m okay. How’re you?”

He wants to push further, but there’s a time and place, and this is not it.

“I’m okay,” he says, “Been busy looking for jobs and stuff, looking up different places in Hawaii, got a gun –”

“What?” Her brow furrows in a frown, “Why?”

He shrugs and chuckles, “Christmukkah present to myself. I figured if Finn gets to have one, so can I.”

Her face darkens and he curses his mouth. “Are you moronic? A gun? Why would you ever need a gun?”

“Um…I’m a hit man?”                                                                                                                                                                                  

“You’re ridiculous.”

He laughs, “You love it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I’m not gonna use it!”

She narrows her eyes, “And how am going truly know that you won’t?”

“Because if you go on a date with me, I’ll promise to never use it.”

She freezes at that, and almost moves to slip off his lap, but he holds her close. “That…is not how this goes.”

“Then how is this supposed to go? Because I’m pretty sure I can’t stop what’s happening to me right now.”

 She stares at him for a moment, and says, “Did you know awareness isn’t your forte?”

He frowns, “I didn’t realize that was a problem.”

“It’s a problem,” she snaps. “You can’t seem to be able to distinguish the difference between kissing towards a purpose and kissing just for the hell of it.”

His face darkens at that and he moves out from underneath her, “So this is you using me.”

“It works both ways, doesn’t it?”                                          

He opens his mouth to retort and pauses, “…What?”

Her stiff posture shrinks slightly at that, “What do you mean, what?”

“You think…I’m using you?”

She’s breathing heavily at this point, “You’re not?”

“I – did you not hear what I just said? Are you that far inside your inflated fucking head that you actually didn’t hear me say that I.Can’t.Stop.What’s.Happening?”

He almost can’t believe he has to point this out to her, but by now she has a look of pure disbelief on her face, and this is probably not something she was ever expecting.

“Look, I’ve…there’s always been something there for you. For as long as I’ve known you – “

“No, you can’t possibly – “

“I do!” He says and sighs, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know how or when, but I do."

“And what if,” he says, her voice cracking, “What if I don’t?”

He looks to her and he can almost feel his chest tighten, “You don’t?”

He can see her battling for control, with the way her face is twitching to keep the tears at bay. For a moment, he’s mesmerized with how exposed she looks at this very moment until she buries her face in her hands, exhales deeply, and shudders out, “I _do._ ”

x

“Are you sure?...Are you positive?...I just want to make sure, okay? I’m not going to come and then have you change your mind...Yeah…Yes, I…Yes, I _know._ I’ll find a way to deal with it, okay?...I’m not – ugh you idiot – yes, of course he is...Sorry…Yes, I still have it…No…No, you are not paying! You’re still so infuriating…. _I know_ …fine! Yes, I’ll check it soon…Yes...Yes, I promise. Okay…okay, bye.”

x

He’s on his third beer when has a sudden urge to hit himself.

x

Once the 9th inning is over and the Yankees celebrate their victory, he finishes his beer and places the empty bottle on the coffee table before leaning back and turns to face Quinn to see her glaring down the phone in her lap, her hands wrapped in a knuckle white grip around it. He’s caught her doing this sometimes when she doesn’t have that stoic mask of hers on, she’ll sit there silently and stare hard at something as if it’ll give her answers.

Sometimes he’ll ask what was wrong, but every time he knows she’ll put that mask back on, and sometimes if she’s not busy she’d say, “ _I’m going to go for a walk.”_

She’ll just up and leave after that, disappearing for an hour or two and come back with a hint of red rimmed eyes. He knows she likes to think he’s oblivious to this part of her life, but he knows that she goes to the church every time.

He can’t really stop her from going, and he can’t really force to spill what the problem was. Finn was right and wrong. Quinn isn’t just a one thousand page epic novel, she’s an epic series. He has to read between the lines, and connect the dots, and decipher the meanings to figure Quinn out. Even just opening them is exhausting and nearly impossible. Instead, he just skips to the last page, where he knows Quinn will always came back and settle right into his arms.

So with every chance against him, he reaches an arm over and gently tugs at a lock of hair sticking out over her right ear. “Penny for your thoughts, Bright Eyes?”

Slowly, she looks up at him through her eyelashes and he instantly see’s the beginnings of her mask slipping on.

“Who was that on the phone? Want me to go all hit man for you?” He blurts out, hoping that she’ll answer him just this once.

She blinks at him and then looks to the TV. “If you’re willing to assassinate Santana, then yeah,” she says slowly.

A grin forms on his face and he tucks that stubborn lock of hair behind her ear, “No can do on that one, I fear. One, she’s too far away and two, she’d kill _me_. Why? She pulling your strings?”

“No, she’s just…” she looks hard at the TV and breaths deeply. “She was just reaming me out for not going to the reunion.”

“I can totally spam her facebook if you want,” he gives her a mischievous grin. “Her email too. An endless spam of straight porn. Yes, oh my damn, I can see it now. It’ll be my greatest work –”

“They want me to go to New York for the weekend.”

He blinks, “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the problem?”

She frowns at him, “It’s…New York.”

“Yeah, you haven’t been to New York in forever, and what, you haven’t seen Santana and Brittany and their mini me in forever, right?”

“…Right.”

“Okay, good it’s settled. It’s this week?”

“Next.”

“Okay, good. You’re going.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He turns back to the TV and changes the channel to ESPN to check out the game replays, oblivious to Quinn’s stare.

He’s not gonna lie, the reunion has him in a mood (Which is freaking him the fuck out, to be honest). Seeing Finn after so long has him thinking how time was such a precarious thing. He missed his girl, he did, but…he can’t help but wonder when the last time Quinn spent any time with her friends. He can’t even remember if she _has_ any friends outside of his own circle of people he knows.

The longer he stares at the TV, the more aware and uncomfortable he becomes under Quinn’s stare. He chances a glance at her – she’s looking at him with a deep suspicious frown. He shifts in his seat under the weight of it.

“Are you sure?”

He groans, “Oh my god. Yes, baby girl, I’m sure.”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name – “

“Right, right, I’m sorry. Just go, woman. Go have a ladies week, or whatever. Just be happy, okay?”

And in an instant the mask reappears, a thin smile on her lips. “If you say so,” she says and pops up from the couch, heading to the kitchen. “Want another beer?”

“Yeah,” he calls back and slowly blinks at the sudden change of mood.

Instead of dwelling on it, like he used to, he shrugs and reclines further down into the couch, resting his feet on top of the coffee table knowing fully well he’s going to get his ass reamed for that.

“Puckerman!”

He smiles.

x

He has a stronger urge to punch the wall instead.

So he does.

x

When she gets back from New York, she jumps right into his arms and he pulls her tight against him.

“I love you,” she whispers in his neck.

He smiles, “Missed me that much, Bright Eyes?”

She nods, “Yeah.”

“Come on then, let’s go home and see just how much you missed me.”

She gently pulls away from him and his smile drops once he sees her red rimmed eyes. “Actually…” she starts with a stammer, “I think I need to…”

He sighs.

“I won’t be long, I promise.” She kisses him and presses her lips to his ears, gripping his shirt in a white knuckle grip. “I’ll show you how much I missed you when we get home, I promise.”

When they get home, she immediately dumps her bags in their bedroom before heading out again for her walk/church visit.

To keep his head busy, he decides to play some music on their ipod dock. He scrolls through the lists of artists, looking for something heavy metal to get his blood going, but finds himself stopping at that Billie Holiday crooner Quinn loves to play. He clicks play on the first album and the sound of a trumpet immediately plays from the speakers. 

“Lady sings the blues,” Billie sings softly, and oh man is she right.

x

His grip on her waist tightens and she rolls her hips harder into him. In and out.

_Oh god._

He looks up her and groans at the sight. Beads of sweat run down her body, with one hand braced against his chest and the other against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut.  She looks like a goddess with the way her sweaty hair sticks to her forehead and the way her abs flexes with every movement.

He runs his hands up her stomach up to her breasts, and kneads them gently, feeling her nipples harden underneath his palms. He smirks and pinches them with his fingers. She moans and bites her lip, her hand grazing from his chest up to his throat, and presses down, just how he likes it.

Inandoutinandout.

_Oh god._

He’s no poetic guy, but he swears he’s beginning to see stars; as if that goddess above him was enchanting him and drowning him deeper and deeper and – _ugh oh god_ – deeper in love with her. He wants to pull her closer, draw her lips on to his and drag his nails down her back.

But he knows that isn’t allowed, she’ll smack his hands away and press against every inch of her body harder against his. Marking him and making him see stars. He’s not really complaining, this is how they worked. She’d be on top and ride him to the inch of his life, forbidding him from marking her or having any control whatsoever.

But tonight is different – he’s feeling a little mischievous.

Before she can blink, he has her on her back and the position allows him to thrust faster – _ohgodohgodohgod_ – her nails are going to leave his back bleeding tonight.

Still he’s relentless, driving himself deeper until –

“O-oh fuck, I’m gonna – oh –“

– _Ohgodohgodohmyfuckinggod._

When he’s finished, he’s breathing hard, with sweat and what he swears is blood dripping down his back. A lazy grin makes its way on his face, and he leans up on his elbows to look down at Quinn. His smile droops slightly at the sight of the tight cords on her neck and her eyes squeezed shut.

“Baby?”

Instantly, she expels the breath she’s holding and blinks her eyes open. Something clicks in his head then, “Did you…”

She shakes her head, “No.”

“Hmm,” he hums and leans down to nuzzle her neck and gently bite her earlobe. “I can go down on you, if you like,” he says, smiling lecherously.

He makes to move down her body with a kiss to her neck, but she holds him where he is. “No, it’s – it’s okay.”

“You sure? I know how much you like it when the Puckzilla does that.” He chuckles, practically hearing her eyes roll.

She pulls him up gently by his hair and cups his cheeks, “I’m sure. I – it’s just one of those off days. I don’t think I can tonight.”

He smiles and kisses her, sliding his lips slowly against hers, and giving her bottom lip a gentle tug with his teeth. “It’s cool baby, another time huh.”

She nods and gives him a small smile. He kisses her softly once more and collapses on his back next to her, pulling her naked body flush against his. He smiles at the warmth from her body, and the way his skin tickles when she sighs against it. No worries, he’ll get her in the morning.

Except when he wakes the next morning, her side of the bed is cold and empty.

x

The second time they have sex is the night she moves to LA. They’ve been doing the long distance thing since that Christmukkuh, and now that Quinn’s completed undergrad, they’re both making the move to Hawaii. The apartment is a mess, scattered with boxes and furniture in disarray, but that doesn’t stop their smiles when he drops the last bag on his couch.

It happens like this. He’s the first one to make a move and kisses her, and she’s the first to lead him to his bed and tear at his clothes.

He gives her the control, allowing her to push him on the bed and straddle him. It’s when she pulls away from their kiss to meet his eyes does she begin to unbutton her blouse with trembling hands. He begins to breathe hard, feeling his boxers tighten.

When she says, “Condom,” he knows she can feel it. He instantly reaches an arm blindly to his nightstand to retrieve one, maneuvers his boxers off and slides it on. He’s not making a mistake this time.

The more of her porcelain skin that comes into view, the more difficult he finds to keep eye contact. When she’s finally naked on top of him, he takes his time to let his eyes travel along the expanse of her skin, burning it into a pink flush.

“You’re beautiful,” he says and finally looks back up to meet her gaze to see her biting her bottom lip, her chest heaving.

Leaning up, he wraps his arms around her and kisses the worry from her lips, dragging his mouth to her chin and cheeks to her ear. “You’re beautiful,” he repeats softly and then, he’s inside her.

Her body tenses and trembles, her hands firmly gripping at his shoulder and hair, and gasping in his ear. He holds her and attempts to clear the spots in his eyes, because holy shit this is actually happening. He’s almost too shocked to even believe it.

When her hips finally moves does his body twitch and collapse back on the bed with a moan. She blinks at him in surprise and a rush of embarrassment floods him, but then a devilish smirk appears on her lips, her hands bracing on his chest. He chokes back another moan when she grinds into him, his hands gripping her hips.

He begins to lose track of the time, his brain wired to the small sounds of gasps escaping her lips, and the way her brows are furrowed and eyes are shut in pleasure.

When she comes, her body goes taut and she gasps. Just at the sight of pleasure on her face and beads of sweat licking down her skin, he follows soon after.                                                                                                             

He pulls himself out and she slumps against his body, breathing heavily.                                                              

“So,” he draws out when he gets his breath back. “From one to ten, how blown is your mind?”

She chuckles, her breath tickling his skin and he smiles.

She’s silent for a moment, her fingers drawing invisible patterns on his chest, and then says, “It’s pretty far out there.”

Wrapping an arm around her, he’s inclined to agree. It was slow and spontaneous. It was everything their first time should have been.  They’re both sober and they’re both adults, and he still can’t over how much he loves it when she’s on top.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**the game is over over over**

Their second year together is when he proposes. The year after that is the ceremony. Two years after that is when they finally get a house. And it goes on and on and on. Everything happening so fast, he doesn’t even realize just how crazy it seems.

When Quinn says yes after he proposes during Beth’s seventh birthday, he’s so blinded by relief that everything seems like a blur from there, from the thumbs up to Beth during an embrace with a trembling Quinn, to sitting in their silent kitchen staring at Quinn’s wedding ring and drinking a beer.

x

He likes to believe he’s a family man now that he’s older. He’s always known that family is the number one priority no matter what kind of bullshit he pulls. But Ohio and Chicago are so far, and there are way too many vacationing families visiting the beaches these days.

His perpetual moping is reaching Quinn-level territories, and that scares the shit out of him.

x

His eyes dart around, zipping from his food, to the kitchen table, to her, to the wall behind her, to her again. He’s a suicidal man, he knows it.

He’s asking for his death, he’s asking to be sliced open and have all his organs removed one by one while he’s still alive. He’s asking for his spine to be ripped out with her bare hands. He’s scared shitless, but he needs to tell her, whether or not he’s going to an early grave (alive he’s betting on).

“I want a kid.”

The silence is deafening, Quinn stills mid-chew and stares at her plate, swallowing heavily.

He feels his palms grow sweaty and his hands tremble; nevertheless, he squares his shoulders and waits as she ever so slowly looks up from her plate of food to stare at him.

(He pictures anvils the size of cars falling on his head.)

“What?” The sound of her voice fills the room like a gunshot.

“I – _ahem_ – I want a kid.”

She slowly blinks at him. “We already have a kid,” she says, her voice clipped and low, and he winces internally.

(He pictures Quinn and his baseball bat and his skull caving in under her wrath.)

“Yeah, I know but that’s Beth and – and Beth’s Shelby’s and they live in Chicago so…”

“And what spurned this on?”

He pauses; he knows he shouldn’t be feeling like the most selfish asshole in the world. There wasn’t anything wrong with his developing – albeit uncomfortable – need for a family, right?

“Did it…ever occur to you that I wanted another kid?”

“Did it ever occur to _you_ that I _don’t._ ”

“What?”

Quinn has a wild look about her now, “I’m not replacing Beth, Noah.”

He blinks in surprise, “Replace? Quinn, I just want another mini me of us running around, not replace Beth.”

(He pictures hazel eyes, olive skin, mousy brown hair and a mischievous smile running around with pitter patter feet.)

She glares at him, her unblinking eyes filling with tears and he braces himself. “I love you Noah, I do. But the last thing I want is another baby. This family is enough for me.”

He clenches his jaw and fights against the angry burn in his eyes, “And what about me? Don’t I get a fucking say in this?”

She gives him a sad smile, “You already did.”

(He pictures Quinn ripping him into shreds with her bare hands.)

x

She apologizes to him later, which he silently and grudgingly commends her for, because he can’t remember the last time she genuinely apologized to him for something.

She apologizes and says it’s simple – she just didn’t want any more kids. She can’t bear going through the process again without thinking about Beth and missed opportunities.

Shecan’tshecan’tshecan’t.

Excusesexcusesexcuses – that’s all he can hear. She loves kids, he knows that. She works with them, from all ages up to eighteen. She listens, she talks, and she helps them. She’s a child psychiatrist and social worker, that’s what they do. That’s what people who love kids do.

He always thought kids made her happy, he thought kids of her own would make her the happiest woman alive. But then she tells him, “I don’t want to fuck up, Noah. I listen to those kids talk about their lives and their parents and they’re all _me_. I don’t – I _can’t_ do that to one of my own.”

Things like that weren’t simple, but then he remembers Quinn is never simple.

x

He’s not gonna lie, he sort of expected Quinn to bail out on him at the last second on their wedding day. She full on glared at him the moment he bent his knee, and yet still amongst the people around them, she said yes.

And then she says with a wavering voice, _“I Do,”_ and he still can’t believe this is happening. He’s barefoot, there’s sand between his toes, and he’s breathless as the sunset behind Quinn casts a halo around her, her trembling hands in his.

“I do,” he returns with a smile.

x

Okay, he’s not _that_ stupid to not realize something was wrong. When Quinn has trouble getting out of bed, he has to constantly convince her to get up and out of the house. Work, church, and exercise were her only incentives for getting out the house, and when she left, she would be away for hours.

It’s mindfucking, and it only got progressively worse after their reunions happened and the holidays rolled around.

He figures that with Christmakkuh and New Years, kids were just having a more fucked up time with their lives and just needed a bit more of her attention. It was like that every year. But then the holidays came and went, and everything is still as messed up as ever and he’s completely had enough.

It comes to a point when on a Friday night he comes home from a show at 1:30am to find a dark and empty house. He almost wants to fling his guitar case at the wall. Instead he places it in its usual spot, and gets ready for bed.

It’s 2am and he’s lying wide awake in bed when Quinn finally stumbles in. He’s tired and frustrated, and thinks about sitting up and scaring the shit out of her for getting home so late. But he hears her sigh and slowly change her clothes in the darkness of their room, not even bothering to put her work clothes away. He decides then to just let her collapse into bed without any fuss.

She slides under the covers and settles in, with her back to him and lets out another slow, shaky sigh. He silently watches her, and wonders if he’s gonna have to beg her to get up and eat something tomorrow morning.

Slowly, he reaches over, wraps an arm around her waist and she faintly jumps in his arms. “Hey, babe,” he sighs, burying his face in her neck.

“Hey,” she whispers back.

He swallows heavily, “What took you so long?”

“Emergency case; suicidal,” she says, her tone flat.

He blinks and exhales heavily at that. He closes his eyes, smelling in the coconut shampoo in her hair.

“Babe?” He whispers.

“Yeah?”

He’s silent for a moment, frowning, and finally says, “You don’t look at me anymore.”

She stills, she’s stopped breathing. “Well…barely at least.”

“Noah –“

“I’m-I’m not saying you don’t love me anymore, it’s just…it’s just…I don’t know what I’m saying. You know how bad I am at this shit.”

“Then get to the point,” she rasps out, and he hears the pain in her voice, the exhaustion.

He sighs, “I love you, I love you a shitton. But…you’re masochistic. You can’t keep talking to these kids – these younger versions of yourself. You’re turning into a zombie.”

She trembles, “What do you want me to do? These kids need me.”

“No they don’t, _I_ need you,” he says, pulling her closer, hating how exposed he sounds and hating how he’s exposing her. “You need help, babe. It’s gonna be too late unless you don’t start taking care of yourself…”

She sniffs and she says, “It isn’t too late. They don’t have to be me.”

“Quinn…you’re killing yourself.”

She lets out a choked sob he knows she’s been holding back, and he holds on to her as tight as he can.  

x

He finds it hidden on the bottom of her drawer. He wasn’t sneaking or anything; he’s not the kind of person to do that sort of shit, no.

He was changing after coming home from the beach and was looking for his favorite t-shirt that Quinn loved to steal – he opens one of the drawers containing her t-shirts and moves them around, searching, when he feels it, cool and smooth to the touch.

He feels something twist in his stomach. He grasps it and pulls it out, the small gold band glinting in his palm. His breath caught in his chest, he feels like he’s back on the beach and those waves were crashing down on him again and again, drowning him.

He mindlessly tugs on an old t-shirt and wanders downstairs into the kitchen, collapsing in a chair. He watches the ring glint in his palm for a moment. Watches and remembers the day he asked Beth how to propose, remembers the day he slipped it on Quinn’s finger.

He lets the ring drop on the table and watches as it spins and spins and spins and spins and remembers…

x

They spent their honeymoon in an expensive hotel in Chicago. They had gotten married in late October. They missed the cold, the snow.

After a day of walking around the city with Beth, they dropped her off at Shelby’s and collapsed on their hotel bed in a heap. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he huddled closer to Quinn, the both of them still wearing their jackets and the light of dusk painting the room.

He remembers the wonder in Quinn’s eyes as she stares at the gold band around her finger. “I’m never going to take it off,” she says.                                                                                                                                                                                 

x

“Do you love me?”

Four little words and a question mark. That’s all it takes for his brain to short circuit.

It’s their second month living in Hawaii and they’re walking home hand in hand from the bar late at night after making some friends. They stop walking and she looks at him with a stony expression. It’s a question he doesn’t expect, not at that exact moment.

He knew it had been coming though, he knows Quinn would never be the first one to expose herself first.

“Way to take a dude off guard,” he says, with the taste of beer still in his mouth.

Her eyes turn down, “Noah…”

He doesn’t remember when she begins calling him by his first name, but he remembers what that tone in her voice means and he sobers at the sound of it.

It’s not the way he imagined admitting it. Frankly, it’s not actually something he’d ever admit to imagining. And yet, he lightly squeezes her hand for her to look up at him and he gives her a smile and says, “I do.”

Her shoulders sag and a mystifying smile catches her lips, “You fuckin’ idiot.”

He smiles, giving her an exaggerated shrug with a wink and tugs her closer, “Hey, do you love _me_?”

Sober Puck would have probably smacked Tipsy Puck in the back of the head for doing that, because _hey man you gotta fuckin’ ease into those kind of Q n’ A’s, not dive bomb._

And yet, she shakes her head faintly and huffs out, “I do, you numbnut.”            

x

When he isn’t able to look at the ring anymore, sitting there in the middle of their kitchen table, he turns his gaze to the hole he left in the kitchen wall. He drinks his beer and wonders how everything can come crashing down in an instant.

He suddenly hears the key in the door. _Oh right, its errand day._ He clenches his jaw, staring harder at the opening, hoping it could just suck him up like a black hole.

The door opens and closes. He hears the ruffle of bags and her taking off her jacket. He wants to get up then – get up and confront her. Shake her and ask her why. But he couldn’t, because he doesn’t know for sure. He could just be making this all up and Quinn could have a believable excuse. His chest hurt just by the ideas in his head and the fact that he would even think that.

He hears the click of her heels on the floor, and he breathes a little harder.

Louder and louder they got, until –

“Noah?”

He takes his time to tear his eyes away from the hole to meet her confused gaze, glancing back and forth between the puncture and his eyes. Slowly, he finishes his beer and places the can purposely on the table with a loud clang. He levels her with a hard stare as her eyes track the movement of his hand and watches as piece by piece, the wide array of her emotions are walled up behind her mask – that’s when he knows she saw it.

This was it, the moment of truth. He swears he can feel his heart in his throat as blood rushes to his head, watching as her eyes move from the ring to the wall again and again.

x

He remembers a few years ago, the day when Quinn read the letter her father had left her before putting a pistol in his mouth.

When she hears the news, she automatically shut down and didn’t speak to him or anyone for days until after the funeral in Lima.

Not until she finally read his letter, lock herself in their bedroom and proceed to destroy it, screaming and crying her voice hoarse. He had never felt so scared for her in his life. When she allows him back in hours later, her hands are bruised, and her face distraught and wet with tears. Some things just didn’t need to be explained.

He holds her tight, doesn’t say a word, and makes a mental note to store away his gun in a safe.

It might be his paranoia talking, but he’s not taking any chances.

x

Without a word, she drops the grocery bags on the floor and slowly sits down across the table from him.

His hands gripped into white knuckled fists, he silently urges her to speak. The room is dead silent and still, it’s suffocating him just to hear how loud both of their breathing is. 

And then finally, she says in that soft way of hers, “You haven’t done that since your mom died.”

His slowly squeezes his eyes shut and stops breathing.

He knew she’d understand.

x

He remembers how Quinn repays the favour when his sister calls to tell him their mom passed from a stroke.

They’re cleaning the house after having a barbeque that day. He remembers how Quinn was gathering trash from the backyard, and he was in the kitchen packing away leftovers when he gets the call.

He’s deathly still when the call ends after a definite promise to go back to Lima as soon as possible for the funeral.

He doesn’t exactly remember punching his fist bloody against the wall, but he does remember how he collapses into Quinn’s arms as he cries.

She holds him all night that night and never let go throughout the funeral.

x

When it felt like his lungs are about to burst, he exhales slowly, opens his eyes and jumps up from his chair. He can’t look at her, not yet. He can feel the rage bubbling under his skin. He snatches the empty beer can from the table and slams it into the sink with an echoing clang.

He wants to kick the cupboards, slam his fist against the marble.

(He pictures Quinn and his gun and his chest weeping red.)

Instead, he runs a rough hand over his hair, and opens the fridge. He takes out two cans of beers and then opens the freezer, taking out Quinn’s freezer mug. He places her drink and mug in front of her, collapses into his chair, opens his can and gulps almost half of it down. Somehow, he feels overwhelmingly exhausted already and he hasn’t even spoken yet.

Clenching his teeth, he looks at her to see that she hasn’t even moved since she sat down. With her chest heaving, she stares at the hole in the wall and he wonders if she felt like disappearing into it just like he did.

“So,” he chokes out, his voice rough. “I’m not making things up then.”

“No,” she replied, her voice listless.

“All of-all of those late nights, the working out...all that is bullshit, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What church?”

“Church is church.”

“…So you’ve been…“

“Yes, Noah.”

She sounds defeated, she looks defeated. With the slow way she moves to open the can and pour the beer into her mug. He glares as she takes a long sip.

“I don’t understand,” he chokes out.

“What isn’t there to understand?”

“That-that this is _bullshit_! This came out of _nowhere!”_

“Stop fooling yourself, Noah. You knew something was wrong,” she says, shutting her eyes in exhaustion.

He’s seething, he wants to flip the table and wreck the room. But he can’t. He isn’t his father, he is _not_ his father.

“You vindictive bitch,” he snarls.

He knows old Quinn, high school Quinn would have smirked at that. He knows she would have been amused at his anger. He knows…he…he knows that old Quinn would never just slowly open her dead eyes to stare blankly at nothing.

 “I…I don’t know anything about you anymore,” he says, and feels his chest cave in with an exhale.

She’s silent, lost in that vast head of hers and then says, “You never did.”

He looks away at that, a sting behind his eyes.

(He pictures waves crashing down on him, pulling him down, down, down…)

He rubs his eyes and sinks further into the chair, with one question burning him, “Who is it?”

She looks at him then, settling the mug back on the table, her face void of anything.

He looks at her and stares her down, _“Who is it, Quinn?”_

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. I’m the one who’s been married to you for six fucking years, I deserve to know.”

She’s still for a long moment, and he can finally see the pain and regret behind that mask of hers. Finally, she retrieves her iPhone from her blazer pocket and fiddles with it for a moment.

She hesitates a moment, but then she slowly slides the phone across the table to him.

He eyes her, “You seriously need help.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She says softly, taking another long gulp of her beer.

He picks up the phone and watches as she looks back at the hole, and he almost wants to laugh at her cowardice before looking down at the phone.

He laughs then. He laughs hard – almost doubling over as tears fills his eyes and stares at those big brown eyes, long brown hair, and that smile that could light up the world.

“She doesn’t look a thing like Jesus,” is the first thing out of his mouth.

 


End file.
